The White Wolf rises
by SaiyanPrince541
Summary: ALTERNATIVE SEASON 7! Now King in the North, Jon Snow seeks to unite the North, the Riverlands and the Vale under his rule, but to do this he must defeat the Lannisters on the field. Can he do it and can he forge an alliance with the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen, so that together they overcome the army of the dead? How will things fare for the new King of Winter?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, I was inspired to do a Tormund/Brienne one-shot, by my favourite friend/artist lovelykotori, but somehow I managed to create something, a whole lot bigger! Thus, here we are! While, this will eventually include some Tormund/Brienne fluff and (possibly) mild smut, it'll mainly be centred around Jon! Hope you folks enjoy! Keep in mind that this is my first GOT fan-fic, so please do forgive any discrepancies or blunders on my part! :)_

Chapter 1: Plans for the Winter

The King in the North. It was a title he could never possibly have dreamed of. Now, the chivalrous hero, Jon Snow, overlooked the battlements of his new castle, peering closely upon the Kingsroad. Years ago, Robert Baratheon ventured upon this same road on his fateful journey to Winterfell. If only the King of Westeros had kept his affairs in the South, where they belonged, instead of riding North in a journey that would unwittingly be the beginning of the end, for House Stark. His honorable father would still be alive. Lady Catelyn would continue spurning and loathing him. Robb, his older brother and predecessor, would be japing alongside him, as they oversaw young Bran's miserable attempts at marksmanship. And Arya, dearest of all, his eccentric little Arya, the miniature tomboy that he'd always been so fond of, would constantly gripe about not wanting to be a lady and proclaiming how she yearned to be a great warrior that led her own armies and controlled her own destiny, as opposed to a timid, meek little female that was bound by the whims and wishes of some nasty, domineering Lord husband.

But it was thoughts of Rickon that grieved him more than any other. An innocent boy of eleven, heartlessly murdered by that evil, twisted, psychopath Ramsay. Sansa repeatedly assured Jon that it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could've possibly done different to save their baby brother. She was totally right, but that didn't make it hurt any less. Curse the Umbers! It was all their fault! How could they commit treason, so easily?! For millennia, they'd been the most loyal bannermen to House Stark, yet in the span of a few days, they suddenly decided to jump into bed with Bolton's bastard!

Jon let out a deep exhale, pressing his fingers against his eyes. Now wasn't the time to brood over what could've been. Many battles were yet to fought, chiefly that which awaited him beyond the wall. With the entire North and the Knights of the Vale at his behest, Jon knew that he had control over one of the greatest forces in all of Westeros, yet it wasn't nearly enough, not against the sinister army of wights and White-Walkers that sought to bring ruin upon the living world.

Before the mutiny at castle black, Samwell Tarly had informed him of Maester Aemon's great niece and the fact that she not only commanded legions of trained soldiers, fiercely loyal to her cause, but three great dragons, which grew larger with each passing moment. Forging an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen would be most auspicious. The late King Stannis' former seat of Dragonstone, lay vacant. It was of primary import that they seize the island, along with the hoards of dragon glass therein, waiting to be mined. Thousands of obsidian swords, daggers, arrowheads, spearheads and axeheads could be crafted to combat the accursed White-walkers, while the legendary winged beasts of the Dragon Queen, set ablaze, the army of the dead with their fiery breath, putting a final rest to the hapless souls, whose lifeless bodies were pawned away, for the cause of evil. Much needed to be done, to protect the world of the living.

"Riders, approaching!" Shouted the watchman, breaking Jon from his musings. A minute later he recognised the pair heading towards winterfell.

"Open the gate." Ordered the Wolf King.

"Open the gate!"

Brienne of Tarth rode with no real haste, eyes downcast, as she made her way towards the lacking welcoming party.

"My Lady." Jon tilted his head respectfully, upon making his way down from the parapets, a gesture that was returned. "Any news from the South? Did Ser Brynden not agree to join us?"

Lord Selwyn's only child sighed dejectedly, shoulders slumping. A few taut seconds passed by, without word.

"Why?" The dispirited King asked. He'd heard many stories about the legendary Blackfish. Having him as an ally would not only lift his morales, but please Sansa a great deal, since she would get to meet one of the last living relatives, from her mother's side.

"It's not what you think, my Lord."

"Jon Snow is our King!" Robett Glover stiffly asserted, standing beside his leader. "You will refer to him as Your Grace!"

To say that she was stunned by the sudden announcement was an understatement. Brienne heard about the great victory in Winterfell on her way there, but hadn't the slightest clue that the North had already chosen a new King. The revelation was absolutely mind-blowing. Nonetheless, the Lady of Tarth soon shook it off and matched Lord Glover's grimace with her own, upon recognizing the silver fist brooch, pinned to his fur coat.

"And where were you when your King fought against the Boltons?!" She spat. "Hiding in the safety of your castle, like a coward, while thousands died?!"

With a growl, Robett pressed his palm on the pommel of his sword, only to be stopped by Jon, before a bloody brawl erupted.

"It's alright." He said reassuringly, putting up his hand. "Lady Brienne has sworn to protect my sister. She's a friend of House Stark and the North." He shifted his gaze back to Brienne. "And you, my Lady, should not be so hard on Lord Glover. His wife and children were thrown into the dungeons and scores of his subjects were murdered, by the Ironborn. While he did err, his reasons were noble. He refused to put the lives of his men, at risk." He gestured for her to follow him. "Come, there's much to discuss."

Brienne and Robett glared at one-another for a few moments, before she headed towards the Great Hall. Sitting opposite each other, Jon and Brienne conversed at length.

"The Lannisters and the Freys lay siege to Riverrun, but the Blackfish refused to surrender." She abjectly recounted. "I begged him to come to our aid, but he just wouldn't have it. In the end he chose to die, fighting." Pausing for a few seconds, she shook her head, letting out a wry chuckle. "No matter what I do, I always fail. King Renly, Lady Catelyn and now, Ser Brynden, too."

"You didn't fail." Jon replied consolingly, placing a comforting hand, atop hers. Brienne looked up at him, in surprise. "You did your best. If it weren't for you, my sister would've still been Ramsay's prisoner and so would my brother. Not to mention, the Boltons would still be occupying Winterfell, most likely."

Brienne gave Jon a hint of a smile, believing then that this was one of the few men in history, who were truly worthy of their royal title.

"Thank you." She bowed her head, pausing awhile, before continuing. "My King."

"You're welcome." Jon smiled benignly.

As the hours trickled by, the Lady of Tarth often found herself under the lascivious scrutiny of a certain red-bearded wildling, who just wouldn't take the hint! She found that man detestable, impertinent and completely revolting! Could he not just leave her be?! A knock on the helm, by Podrick Payne's sparring sword jolted her from her resentful thoughts.

"My Lady, are you okay?" The squire asked, solicitously. Even at his best, he'd never been able to touch Lady Brienne. This was most unusual and a cause for concern.

"I'm fine!" She hissed, waving her hand dismissively, before continuing in a calmer voice. "I just need to sit down, awhile."

"Are- are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" She huffed and shook her head. "You're relieved for the rest of the day."

"Okay." He mumbled timidly and proceeded to saunter away, face downcast, wrongly believing that he'd done something to offend his Lady.

"Pod!" Brienne called out. The squire turned towards her. "You did good." She said earnestly. "You've improved a lot, over the last few days. You're a quick learner."

"Thank you, my Lady." He smiled beatifically. Though extremely rare, her words of praise never failed to heighten the young man's self-worth.

Brienne went over to the Godswood and closely inspected the thick, Weirwood tree. She'd seen several such trees before, but none this size.

"I thought you Southerners prayed to your new Gods." Came the guttural voice of the last person she wanted to hear.

"What do you want?" Brienne grimaced at the wildling General.

"There're many things I want." Tormund smiled suggestively, whereby the female warrior nearly gagged. Before Brienne could rebuff him, he continued. "But in truth, I came here for a little prayer of my own."

"You pray?" She frowned, slightly thrown off.

"That surprise you?"

"You just don't strike me as the praying type." Brienne remarked in a crude voice, turning away. A short interval followed.

"I never was a godly man." Tormund recounted. "I spent a long time, wondering why men would kneel before some bleeding hunk of wood, with red leaves." He looked towards the sacred, white tree. "If I cut that thing down now, I doubt anything would happen, so what could I possibly gain, by praying to something that can't even protect itself?"

A moment of silence passed.

"So what changed your outlook?" Brienne asked curiously, not facing him.

"War. Death. Slaughter." He replied simply, pausing between each word. "Countless men, women and children met their end at the edge of my blade. Taking life always came easy to me."

Brienne didn't think she could possibly revile this man, the way she did after hearing that, though it hardly surprised her, given the barbarous infamy of the wildlings.

"That is, until I saw it happening to my own people." He sighed dejectedly, upon recalling the grisly massacre at Hardhome. "I saw scores of them, hacked to bits by their own dead brothers and sisters." Tormund went on, in a pained, broken voice that held a spark of hate and vitriol, within its gruff decibels. "I saw the Night King lift his hands and moments later, the dead rose back up, by the thousands, standing beside him, as a part of his damned army, forever cursed."

"I- I'm sorry." Brienne said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. It certainly sounded like a horrible sight to behold. Half a minute ticked by.

"You wondered why I pray to the gods." Tormund said. The Southern woman set her eyes on him, giving the wildling her undivided attention. "It's because I've looked upon the face of true evil and it's far worse than anything I'd ever imagined. The only way a man can sleep at night, after seeing the things I've seen, is to believe that there's something good out there, some greater force watching over us, that'll help us get through the darkness, in one piece."

"Maybe there is, maybe there isn't." Said Jon Snow, just entering the scene, gathering the attention of the two present. "Either way, we'll have to face the long night."

"Your Grace." Brienne knelt before the King.

"Rise, my Lady." He ordered and she promptly stood to her feet. "May I speak with Tormund, in private?"

Brienne creased her brows at Jon a moment, before begrudgingly bowing and taking off.

"Your Grace?" Tormund chuckled, suddenly recalling a past event. "Remember when we first met? You thought I was Mance and said the same thing to me, as you got down on all fours hahahaha."

"How could I forget?" Jon rolled his eyes, letting out a droll laugh.

"Now you're the King and every Lord for seven hundred miles is bending the knee."

"It seems that way." The wolf King said, looking up into the sky. "But, I never chose this."

"No, you didn't." The bearded General replied. "Yet here you are, the King in the North!" He exclaimed, spreading his arms out wide and inclining his head sideways, just a little, in a feigned bow.

"I- uh- don't know how to say this, but-" Jon bit his bottom lip, clearly uncomfortable. He'd given this quite a bit of thought, but bringing it up was quite troublesome, for the new monarch.

"But?" The wildling took a step closer, his interest piquing.

"You're one of the few people, the only people that I can really trust." He acknowledged, much to the astonishment of a wide-eyed Tormund. "Only a handful of my own countrymen enlisted to support my cause, but you stood beside me, without a second thought and convinced the rest of the Free Folk to do the same."

"I did." Tormund nodded, after a brief pause.

"I've seen you fight men and I've seen you lead them into battle." Jon stated. "I know you and I respect you, as a man and as a warrior."

"Where exactly are you going with this?"

"I want you to be my Hand." He answered.

"Your- Hand?" Frowned a bemused Tormund.

"Hand of the King." Jon replied. "In other words, my second-in-command. You would rule the North, by my side and answer to no one, except me."

The wildling General was completely floored and unable to utter a single, coherent sound, for at least a good minute or so.

"I- I- don't understand." Tormund finally said. "There're dozens of Lords you can choose from. Why me?"

"Because I know you better than I know them." He responded. "And I trust you."

"You are a fool, Jon Snow." Tormund shook his head. He and Sansa were the only ones who called him by his name. The Free Folk still referred to him as "King Crow", while everyone else addressed him as "Your Grace".

"I'm a fool for trusting you?"

"No, you're a fool for asking me to serve you." He replied. "I thought you knew by now that the Free Folk do not kneel, not before anyone." The Wolf King couldn't help the air of disappointment, embedding upon his handsome features. "Ah, don't look so grim, King Snow." Tormund said reassuringly, clapping a firm hand on Jon's shoulder. "I'll stand beside you in any battle, at anytime." He solemnly vowed. "The Free Folk are indebted to you and will always be your allies, just not your servants."

"Very well." Jon sighed, after a moment.

"Look, most of the Lords following you, hate the Free Folk." Tormund argued, seeing Jon's disenchantment. "How many would you antagonize, by giving me authority over them?"

"Too many, I guess." The King placed a hand on his nape, knowing his friend's logic was irrefutable. "I was hoping they'd be more accepting, with you by my side, but- you're probably right."

"If you want my advice, then listen well." The bearded wildling proposed. "Your Northern Lords will follow you, no matter what, so if you want a 'Hand', I would suggest one of those cunts from the Vale. I saw them cut through the Bolton infantry, like bread. If you're looking for powerful allies, they're the right ones."

Jon mused for a good moment or so.

"That would be the ideal choice." He acknowledged. "Lord Royce was a great friend of my father's when he grew up in the Eyrie, so I suppose he'd be the best option, in that case."

"So pick him then."

"Alright." Jon gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Tormund."

"Don't thank me." The wildling laughed. "Just get the fuck out of here, so I can pray in peace."

"If you say so." Jon chuckled and offered him, his hand. Tormund shook it firmly, before they nodded to one-another and the King went on his way.

XXXX

It was done. Lord Yohn Royce swore to serve Jon Snow as Hand and with that, the Lords of the Vale fell in line, one by one. The Lord of Runestone also warned Jon about Littlefinger, telling him to be cautious around the crafty, whoremonger. Jon's fury heightened after learning that Baelish had cast blame upon Lord Royce after selling Sansa to the Boltons, a move that nearly saw him executed by the young Lord of the Eyrie, Robin Arryn. He was certain that Royce would never betray Sansa, not after all the stories he'd heard about the honorable warrior, growing up.

The thunderous Wolf King unsheathed Longclaw and began searching out the cunning, brothel-keeper with two dozen soldiers by his side, intent on throwing him into the cells, where he belonged.

Unfortunately for the Northern King, however, Baelish had long since escaped Winterfell and was untraceable. Sighing in resignation, the White Wolf returned to the Great Hall and summoned the Lords of the Vale and the North, in order to determine his next move. Lord Royce surmised that Littlefinger had probably returned to the Eyrie, likely seeking to poison the mind of young Robin Arryn and sway him against Jon.

"If Lord Arryn opposes me, then what?!" Jon cursed vexedly, pressing the base of his palm against his forehead. "Without the Knights of the Vale, we stand no chance against our enemies!"

"The Knights of the Vale stand with you, your Grace." Lord Royce adamantly assured.

"But what about-"

"Lord Arryn?" The Lord of Runestone raised an eyebrow. "The Valemen are sworn to serve House Arryn, true, but we are not sworn to serve that loathsome, knave Petyr Baelish." He vehemently declared, a bitter edge to his voice. "So long as that miserable worm whispers falsehoods in Sweetrobin's ear, we cannot fulfil our vows to our young Lord and call it honorable." Royce sighed dejectedly, shoulders sagging. He turned towards his fellow Lords, who exchanged doubtful glances amongst one-another. "You all know me and you all knew Jon Arryn, a righteous man of honor and nobility." He pointed towards the King. "And a true friend of House Stark.

"Lord Eddard was raised in his halls, alongside Robert Baratheon. When the Mad King called for their heads, Lord Arryn rose up in rebellion against the Targaryens and together, they took the Iron Throne! And now, all three of them are dead, by the treacherous hands of those Lannister rats!" He grit his teeth fiercely. "And what was our reply?! Did we raise our armies in rebellion, as Lord Arryn did?! No, we stood back and did nothing, when Lord Eddard's eldest was murdered, as a guest, at his own uncle's wedding, along with Lady Catelyn and the men serving under them!"

The Lords of the Vale dropped their heads in shame, unable to deny the truth behind Yohn Royce's words.

"We failed House Stark once!" He exclaimed vociferously. "But never again! Stand with me, my Lords and let us honor the memories of our beloved Jon Arryn as well as those of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon!" He drew his sword and turned back towards Jon Snow, raising it high. "THE KING IN THE NORTH!" He promptly knelt, pressing the blade on the wooden floor.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" Followed another Lord.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH!" Swords were successively unsheathed one at a time, finely honed blades gliding against metal scabbards, in a series of euphonic echoes that resounded across the Great Hall of Winterfell.

Though the Lords of the Vale had already given Jon their allegiance, their loyalty towards him was now cemented. The majority of their soldiers were already at Winterfell and he prayed that others would join them too. Baelish had to die for his treachery, that much was certain.

The Wolf King let out a huge sigh of relief, as his hold over the North was bolstered greatly.

XXXX

A day later, news fast reached Winterfell that the Silver Queen had set sail across the Summer sea, headed towards South Westeros with hundreds of ships, tens of thousands of soldiers and three, enormous dragons. Word was that both the Reach and Dorne had now sworn allegiance to Daenerys Targaryen. Most shocking of all was the revelation that the boy King Tommen Baratheon was dead and his mother, the whore Queen, now tainted the Iron Throne. It was crystal clear that the days of House Lannister were numbered. Given the geography of Westeros, the Targaryen Queen's most likely course of action would be to sack Lannisport and continue pushing Eastwards.

The Wolf King, thus, dispatched an envoy to get word to Daenerys as soon as she landed, informing her of the harrowing threat that lay North of the Wall and the need for them to join forces, in overcoming said threat. He also made sure to highlight the importance of the once-royal stronghold of Dragonstone, in the coming war. A pact with the last living child of the Valyrian bloodline would not come easy, given the sour history between House Stark and House Targaryen, but it had to be done, no matter the cost.

It was also learned that Walder Frey had been assassinated in the very halls where he'd orchestrated the red wedding; poetic justice at its finest. His sons, Lothar and Black Walder disappeared hours earlier and were presumed dead. The "Brotherhood Without Banners" were allegedly behind everything, though nothing was confirmed, as of yet. The Rivermen immediately seized the opportunity, rising up in rebellion, once again, to reclaim their strongholds from the wretched Freys.

The Wolf King took a gambit and had 3000 Northern infantry, 2000 Valemen cavalry and several hundred archers travel South across the Neck with a number of portable siege units, to assail the Twins from the East Bank of the Green Fork, while the Riverlords battered them, from the West. A final end to the cursed House Frey would deliver yet another decisive blow to the Lannisters! King Robb Stark, the Young Wolf and beloved brother of Jon, would be avenged at last! He trusted Lord Royce with the command of the army.

In order to thwart the possibility of another Ironborn invasion, he charged Lord Manderly, Lord Glover and Lady Ryswell, with the task of strengthening the defenses of Torrhen's Square, Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin, also instructing them to enlist and train, able-bodied, devout young men and women, who were eagerly willing to take up arms and fight for their new King, whose legend had swept across the lands, like a hurricane, whipping the North back into shape. The plethora of shields, pikes, swords and other military paraphernalia acquired from the fallen soldiers, after the battle of Winterfell would serve a good purpose. Jon's myriad loyal subjects hadn't known hope like this, ever since the tragic demise of King Robb. Blacksmiths, metallurgists, craftsmen, builders, weavers and masters-at-arms worked harder than ever before, getting the people prepared for the horrors that awaited them.

Since winter was here and ready to strike at any moment, crops were rapidly harvested across the North, before they would be killed off, by the frost. Were it not for the fertile terrains of White Harbor and those South of the wall, given to the Free Folk, the North would scarcely last two months under the unyielding mercilessness of the winter. With their ongoing support, however, the Maesters estimated that they could go on for just over half a year, before running out of resources. But it wasn't anywhere close to enough. Each and every moment counted. Alliances needed to be forged as quickly as possible, especially with the Riverlords, whose fecund lands and bountiful streams would provide immeasurable aid, during this gruesome winter.

The defenses of White Harbor were also reinforced greatly, in the unlikely event of an attack from any men loyal to Littlefinger.

Jon, himself, left Sansa back at Winterfell to rule in his stead, while he led a strong, mounted regiment towards the Dreadfort, determined to seize the vacant castle and reward it to House Hornwood, for their loyalty, in supporting his campaign against the Boltons, despite the bleak odds. The paltry force residing in the castle were fearful of what would become of them, knowing that Ramsay had burned down Winterfell, after capturing it from Theon Greyjoy. The castellan assured Jon that he had little love for the bastard son of a Kingslayer, since he was sure that Ramsay was behind the murder of his father, as well as both half-brothers. Jon knew that the craven was merely trying to save his own skin. Nonetheless, he offered clemency to him and his subjects, as long as they travelled North and took the black. Though reluctant, he accepted the King's offer, since it was more than generous and certainly much better than the alternative.

 _A/N: So what did you think, folks? Do tell, as you drop a review! :D_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Whoa, insane amount of reviews there! I guess GOT fics really do get a whole lot of spotlight haha! Thanks everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying it and sorry for the lengthy delay (hard to keep multiple stories updated, with all of life's obstacles in the way haha)! That aside however, let's address some queries:_

 _tazzynazzy: I'm not really one for incest pairings, sorry, but Jon still doesn't know he's a Targaryen yet, so perhaps things could turn out pretty interesting. Question is, will he know the truth, by the time he meets Aunt Daenerys… if he meets her at all?_

 _Theeyeofanger: The Free Folk are already content with their lands South of the wall, since they're fertile and everything. As for the Vale, don't worry, I've got it all figured out._

 _Vivss: Oh, believe me, Davos will most definitely play an integral role in this story, just like he does in the TV series!_

 _HaibaraAiFan: Can't say about Bran, since he's still acquiring new powers beyond the Wall, but Arya will certainly be making an appearance._

 _lovelykotori: Yep, that's just why I put it in, to tease you! Remember, this was supposed to be a strictly Tormund/Brienne fic at start, but I guess plans change hehehe! =p_

Chapter 2: The rise of the Riverlords

"That fucking little whore!" Cersei screeched, as she read through one of many letters that had been bombarded to every major House, throughout the Seven Kingdoms, proclaiming the victory of Winterfell. She promptly tore it up and looked towards her brother furiously, the disgruntled Lord Commander of the Queensguard, who'd come to despise her more deeply than ever, since returning to the Capital. "I want her and her bastard brother dead, do you hear me?! I'll murder those fucking Starks and mount their heads on the ramparts of Winterfell, myself, alongside that double-crossing, whore-mongering, traitor Littlefinger! I don't care what it takes!"

"And how exactly do you propose to accomplish such a feat?!" Jaime sternly demanded. "Send our forces North, during the winter?! Half of them will be killed before they can even cross the Neck and the other half will either desert or mutiny! Even if every single one of them makes it through, the Northerners have the defensive advantage and know their lands far better than we do! It's a fool's errand!"

"Sansa murdered Joffrey!" The irrational Queen snapped, moving so she was face to face with her twin. "I. Want. Her. Dead!" She enunciated each word.

Jaime's lip curled up in a sneer, as he shifted his face forward.

"Fuck. Joffrey." He responded in the same, slow manner. The look on Cersei's face was priceless. Completely aghast, the incestuous Queen was unable to utter a word. "That spiteful little shit deserved far worse than what he got."

Cersei attempted to slap her brother right in the face, only he anticipated it and grabbed her hand, before it reached.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" She yelled histrionically, struggling against his tight hold. "HE WAS OUR SON! YOU'RE DEFENDING THAT MURDEROUS BITCH AND SLANDERING OUR POOR BOY!"

"That boy started a war, by executing her father!" An incandescent Jaime shot back. "A war that killed her family and now ours too!"

"I don't care!"

"Well care about this!" Jaime pushed her away. "Because of your little wildfire stunt, the entire Reach will most likely want to see our heads on spikes!"

"I'll murder every last one of them!" She raved, like a madwoman without a single rational thought in her mind.

"And how're you going do that?!" He growled. "The North, the Vale, the Reach and Dorne are against us! King's Landing is being torn apart by riots, because you destroyed the Sept of Baelor and murdered Queen Margaery, someone who was revered by the masses! It's only a matter of time, before-"

"What are you saying?!" The Queen crudely cut him off.

Jaime paused a few seconds, before replying.

"We need to escape the capital as soon as we can, with as many men as we can."

Cersei laughed wryly, shaking head.

"Ned Stark once gave me the same advice." She recalled. "You know what my reply was?"

Jaime pursed his lips together, knowing that he could never persuade his recalcitrant bitch of a sister, once she had her mind made up.

"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die!" Cersei stated fervently. "There is no middle ground!"

Days later, graver news reached King's Landing.

"Walder Frey is dead, the Rivermen are rising up and the Targaryen girl rides towards Westeros with an armada of ships, leagues of soldiers and three giant dragons." Jaime stated. "What's more, Dorne and the Reach have both sworn fealty to her."

"Fucking great!" Cersei spat. "As if we didn't have enough problems already!"

"Problems you created!" He replied pointedly. She shot him a glare, but he paid it no mind as he went on. "We can't stay here. We need to leave King's Landing, now. We should sail as far East as we can travel. The Summer Isles sound like a decent place to settle."

"Fuck the Summer Isles, fuck that little silver-haired cunt and fuck her dragons!" The Queen yelled stubbornly. "I will burn this whole city to the ground, before giving it to her!"

"You're mad!" Jaime growled, fists clenched tight. He was barely keeping himself from strangling her on the spot. "Half a million people live in King's Landing and you're just going to-"

"Ser Jaime Lannister, I command you to go North and crush the rebellion in the Riverlands." Cersei ordered in a stone cold voice, immediately deciding that her brother had become little more than a nuisance and an impediment to her sinister plans. "Take however many men you need."

"You can't-"

"Ser Boros, Ser Preston!" Cersei called aloud and the two Queensguards entered her chambers. "Escort the Lord Commander outside and see to it that he rides North!"

"Don't you lay a fucking hand on me!" Jaime shoved them aside and walked out on his own. "Fucking bitch!" He snarled. Cersei of course, heard it and felt a twinge of pain run through her heart, only to be replaced quickly by the same malice and derangement that had consumed her since the death of her last and youngest child.

Jaime cursed every god that ever was or would be, for making him fall for someone so vile, odious and cold-hearted! Any traces of redemption she once possessed died along with Tommen and it was all her fault! Their little scandals had destroyed the Seven Kingdoms! He never cared for it before, but now, he was truly regretting, having had anything to do with her!

He spent the next few days, assembling as many men as he could, which wasn't too difficult, since the soldiers were eager to leave the tumultous capital as quickly as possible and he was more than willing to get them out of here. Even still, they weren't too keen on travelling North, since they'd just returned from the Riverlands. Some of his Generals even suggested returning home to the Westerlands, to defend it from the Dragon Queen, but Jaime knew that if he did that, they'd likely end up trapped between two armies, thus his best hope was to secure the Riverlands and the Twins and cut off the Vale from the North, by setting up strategic defenses along the border.

Once that was done, he would have to try and negotiate a peace treaty, with Daenerys Targaryen, no matter what, lest Lannisport and Casterly Rock, be burned to the ground. He knew he stood no chance against her vast ground force and naval force. And so he discussed his plans with the Generals of his army and eventually, they all saw the wisdom in Jaime's proposition and decided that they'd much rather follow him than Cersei, even if it meant capitulating to House Targaryen.

XXXX

The Maester of the Dreadfort was ordered to send a raven to Last Hearth, summoning its Lord to a meeting, where affairs could be settled once and for all.

Straight afterwards, the King had him divulge any secrets about the castle: treasures, riches, food, weapons or anything else. Unlike the previous lords of the Dreadfort, Jon was not at all menacing and convinced the Maester that with winter here, the North needed every bit of help it could get if it were to survive. Thus, the scholarly man led him and his men through the hallway, lit with flaring sconces every few odd feet. At last, they reached the hidden underground vault. Therein was a large, knee-height treasure chest, flowing to the brim, with bars of gold that had the lion insignia of House Lannister, carved in nicely.

"A reward from Tywin Lannister, to Roose Bolton!" Jon fumed, through grit teeth. "For stabbing my brother through the heart!"

"What should we do with it, Your Grace?" Asked one of his lieutenants.

Seeing nothing but red, Jon replied without a single lucid thought.

"Destroy it." He seethed and whirled around, headed for the exit.

"Your Grace!" A foot soldier approached the King.

"What?!" He swivelled to face him, grey-Stark eyes scorching with murderous rage.

"I- I don't th-think that's a g-good idea."

"My brother's blood stains that gold!" The Wolf King roared, tightening his fists.

"Your Grace, may I have a word?" One of the lieutenants spoke uneasily.

"Go on." Jon frowned, after a tense pause, looking deadlier than ever.

"Well, I-." He gulped, before taking a deep breath, in order to collect himself. "Tywin Lannister and Roose Bolton are both dead." The lieutenant stated and took a gander towards the chest. "But that gold remains." Pacing forward, he looked the King squarely in the eyes. "Winter is here and we need all the help we can get, just as you'd said."

"What're you suggesting?!"

"We should take it with us." He solemnly argued. "Make something good of it. Don't let King Robb's death be in vain, your Grace."

Jon clenched his jaw a moment.

"Fine." He huffed begrudgingly. "Take it back to Winterfell." Two men closed the chest and grabbed it from either handle, before heading out.

A slightly smaller chest lay nearby, overflowing with silver.

"What's the story behind this one?" Jon asked the Maester.

"A w-wedding g-gift." He stammered anxiously. "For Lord B-B-Bolton and L-Lady W-Walda."

"Walder Frey!" Jon cursed knowingly and hesitated a moment, before issuing his order. "Take this with you as well. We're done here." He looked towards the Maester. "I thank you for your honesty Maester."

"It was my pleasure, your Grace."

"Here." He threw him a handsome purse.

"Thank you, your Grace." The Maester caught it. "You honor me."

Not long after, Lord Umber arrived with his mounted escort.

The new Lord of Last Hearth appeared more ashamed than anything else, knowing that his older brother had betrayed the Starks and sullied his household, for generations to come. However, he was still concerned about the presence of the wildlings, South of the Wall.

"They've attacked our lands for generations!" Umber exclaimed. "How can we bow before you, while they sit there, ready to invade us at anytime?!"

"They swore that they wouldn't." The Wolf King assured.

"And you trust the promises of wildlings?!"

"They fought beside House Stark, when they had no cause to! " Jon hissed. "Your House fought against ours, despite being sworn to serve the Starks! If they're so terrible, tell me what that makes you!"

Lord Umber was immediately silenced, not knowing whether to feel mortified or enraged. Jon sighed and roved a hand through his dark locks.

"Look, you have your doubts and I can understand that, my Lord." He stated tactfully. "They've committed terrible crimes against your people. I'm not here to defend those crimes and I didn't bring them here, so I could reclaim Winterfell."

"Then why?!" The Lord of Last Hearth narrowed his eyes.

"There's a much greater evil, North of the Wall, that's why!" Jon riposted, voice firm with conviction. "I brought them here, because if I didn't, they'd have been killed by the army of the dead and would've risen up to fight alongside them!"

"And what if they do raid us?!" Lord Umber demanded, not entirely sure whether he believed the tale about an army of dead men. "Then what?!"

Jon peered at him for a few moments, before answering.

"Pledge me your loyalty and House Stark will protect you and your people, from all who would harm you, including the Free Folk, if they ever try." He promised. "Your House will remain the Lords of Last Hearth, till the end of time."

Dithering for just a little while longer, Lord Umber finally replied.

"We served the Starks loyally for thousands of years, longer than almost every house in the North." He stated, pursing his lips together. "My father was first to proclaim your brother Robb Stark, the King in the North. It wounds me deeply that we fought besides turncloaks. I pray that you can forgive us."

Jon nodded in assent.

The Lord of Last Hearth stood up and drew his sword, before pressing the tip against the floor, as he knelt, with his head bowed down.

"I pledge you my sword, my life and my House, and swear to serve you loyally, from this day, until my last day."

Jon released an alleviated exhale and smiled. It was done.

With that out of the way, only one more House opposed his dominion over the North: the Karstarks. Towards the end of the battle, Harald Karstark had fled East with a small vestige of riders. Now that everything else was settled, Jon and his men pursued him, trotting along a ford on the Last River and reaching their destination, only to see a large moat, dug around Karhold. The King beleaguered the castle, offering a truce. Soon after, the drawbridge slowly creaked down and the portcullis winched upwards. Lord Karstark exited the stronghold, with a trifling force, to parlay with the King.

"We're kin, you and I." Jon emphatically reminded Harald, in the midst of a heated exchange. "The Karstarks descend from House Stark."

"That didn't stop your brother from taking my father's head!" Karstark snapped.

"My brother was murdered at the Red Wedding!" The Wolf King fired back. "Whatever mistakes he made, he paid for them, in blood! Remind me again, who killed your two older brothers, Lord Karstark?!"

Harald's chest tightened, as he hissed his reply.

"The Lannisters."

"Aye, the Lannisters!" Jon spat. "The same bastards, who executed my father and gave the North to the Boltons, as a reward for murdering their King! Still, you fought alongside the Boltons, against your own kinsman!"

"Our kinship ended the moment that Robb Stark-"

"I am not Robb!" The enraged King interjected. "I'll love my brother till my dying breath, but I know that he was a fool, for killing Lord Rickard!" Jon exclaimed, though he knew that if it were him, he'd have probably done the same. After all, murder and treason were punishable by death. Justice was rooted deep within the Starks- and it was always their biggest downfall.

Half a minute passed in silence, till Jon broke it.

"You were bitter towards the Starks and I can understand why." He stated. "What I don't understand is how you could align your House with backstabbing murderers that betrayed the entire North to their enemies and broke all the laws of gods and men!"

Unresponsive, Harald merely glared at Jon, lips puckered hatefully.

"So what now?!" The Lord of Karhold demanded, exhaling through his nose. "Will you take my head, like your brother took my father's?!"

"I won't make the same mistake Robb made." Jon shook his head, to Harald's utter surprise. A short while later he issued his judgment. "Harald Karstark, Lord of Karhold, for your treason against House Stark, I strip you of all ranks and titles, all lands and holdings and bid you travel North with your men, where you will live out your days, in service to the Night's Watch."

"And should I refuse to surrender?!"

"Then you will all die." The King vowed, his voice laced with staunch conviction. "Karhold will be cut off from the rest of the North and your people will freeze and starve, in the winter." Harald's breath hitched at the thought. He saw no lie in Jon's unwavering, grey eyes. "If you take the black, however, your sister Alys, will be named Lady of Karhold and head of House Karstark. Your House will remain under my protection, so long as it remains loyal."

Harald took a while to consider his options, before finally relenting.

"Fine." His shoulders fell, as the weight of failure settled in, at last. He couldn't avenge his father and now, he and his family would be shamed, in the coming generations. Harald had little love for the Boltons. With Roose out of the way, his plans revolved around eliminating the Starks and then biding his time, until he had the chance to get rid of Ramsay. That way, the North would belong to the Karstarks, given the blood ties they shared with House Stark. But it was not to be.

And so Jon secured the allegiance of Alys Karstark, who was astonished, relieved and grateful that the new King had shown mercy to her brother, in spite of everything.

"Please don't let us starve." She heartily pleaded. "I know Harald committed treason, but our people need support from the rest of the North, now more than ever."

"You have my word." Jon rejoined immediately, before sighing as he went on in a sombre voice. "And I'm truly sorry for the loss of your brothers and your father, as well. I wasn't there when any of it happened, but I wish it could've been different. I want our houses to be allied together, as they've always been."

"Thank you." She twinkled, moved by the King's sincerity and kindheartedness. She looked towards one of her subjects and nodded. Jon frowned curiously and a minute later, his eyes widened as he saw them come forth with a treasure sack of some sort. Alys took it and untied the drawstring, before opening it and displaying the precious ruby, emerald and sapphire gemstones as well as the gold coins, to an incredulous Jon. "The Boltons gave this to my brother, in return for his support. I want you to have it, your Grace."

Jon was touched by the offering and paused for a few moments before giving her a benevolent smile, as he accepted it and promised once again that as long as he drew breath, House Karstark would be protected and provided for and that nothing would divide them ever again. And so the North was united at last, under Jon's sovereignty.

XXXX

Lord Baelish cursed his lack of foresight, as he made his way into the Eyrie. He'd played all the right cards and still lost. For the first time in many years, he was forced to wallow in the bitter taste of defeat. Littlefinger would've never anticipated that Northmen, never mind Valemen, would so earnestly bend the knee to a bastard that couldn't even keep his oath to the Night's Watch. By openly declaring for House Stark, he'd trapped himself into a corner. The Lannisters would bitterly oppose him. The King in the North had far more men and experienced commanders by his side, not to mention, most of the Vale forces. Crossing him would mean suicide. Dammit, all his efforts were starting to blow right in his face and he was back to square one! The pesky child of Jon Arryn, was his only remaining ally. For now, he'd have to wait it out in the Eyrie. His next move was obvious. Let the North freeze and starve during winter. The bastard King may be an ideal figure for hero worship, but with so many mouths to feed, widespread famine would inevitably turn even his most loyal subjects against him. That would be the opportune moment to strike. Patience was key.

XXXX

With that dirty, old ratbag, Walder Frey off her list, a certain young assassin of the North continued honing her unique abilities by murdering his soldiers, whenever she had the chance. As a result House Frey was in a panic. Over a dozen men took their dying breath, as she smugly loomed over them and identified herself as Arya Stark of Winterfell, to their complete and utter shock. Finally, she decided to take North, intent on gathering whatever information she could from taverns, barns and markets, across the Neck. Once she could identify every Northern Lord responsible for betraying her family, she would continue her travels and pay them their just dues. What she heard, however, blew her mind away and she barely managed to keep it from showing. Jon had re-taken Winterfell for House Stark, killed Ramsay Bolton and was declared King, by all the Northerners, except those that fought against him!

"They say the White Wolf charged right towards them Bolton fuckers, all by himself." A man claimed. "Cut down half a hundred men with his Valyrian steel sword."

"His father would be proud." Another grinned. "He's the greatest fighter the North has ever seen."

"Only second to me." Japed a tipsy bearded fellow.

The faceless girl was thunderstruck. Pride soared through her, the pride of a Stark, the pride of a wolf! Out of all her siblings, Jon had always been her favourite and now, she was resolved to return home at last, so she could be reunited with her much-loved brother!

XXXX

Taking advantage of the panic and chaos, brewing amongst the Frey forces, the Brotherhood without banners began launching raids at every given opportunity. Arrows were fired into Stone Hedge with written messages that elicited the smallfolk to rise up and reclaim their ancestral home. Masons, carpenters, loggers, butchers, tanners, farmers, fishermen, blacksmiths and other civilians who were primarily lowborn, began gathering up whatever arms they could: pitchforks, hatchets, hammers, machetes, cleavers, dirks and scythes. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, the occupiers were quickly put to slaughter. The few that tried to escape were mowed down by the brotherhood, before they could even make it out.

Once Stone Hedge was liberated, the peasant mob went into the dungeons and freed their Lord, Jonos Bracken, the very first Riverlord that had hailed Robb Stark, as King in the North. Along with him, several hundred soldiers were released and the rebellion was set in motion, once again. House Frey quickly lost grip over the strongholds east of the Red Fork. Their soldiers were treated mercilessly by those they'd repeatedly victimized, ever since the Red Wedding and scores of prisoners were set free. With less than a hundred men left in Riverrun, the Freys figured that they should hold the castle until help arrived. As they saw the army of over 1500 mobilized outside their walls, however, they realized that their best hope of survival was to retire to Seaguard, which was still under Frey occupation. Let those fuckers have their prize! The moment the Lannisters arrived, they'd be finished! As a parting gift, the Freys ruthlessly executed all the Tully prisoners within their dungeons and burned all the livestock, before gathering whatever they could and taking North.

And so it was done. The silver trout banners flew high over the battlements of Riverrun, but at pyrrhic cost. Scores of smallfolk had lost their lives, the Tully soldiers had perished, the provisions of the Rivermen were barely enough to last a full moon and Lord Edmure was still held captive at the Twins. But it didn't end there. Scouts reported that over 15 000 Lannister troops were on the move, along the Kingsroad, though thankfully enough, they were being slowed down greatly by hit-and-run attacks from the brotherhood and its new recruits. Still, Lord Bracken sent a raven to Winterfell, saying that they desperately needed Northern aid, before the lion jammed its ugly claws into Riverrun, once again.

XXXX

Back in Winterfell, Sansa was fast learning, what it meant to rule and all the burdens that came with it. With Brienne at her back, Ser Davos Seaworth by her left side and Maester Wolkan at her right, the Lady of the North, did relatively well, in spite of herself. She'd always found the Maester to be kindhearted and amicable, even when she was Ramsay's prisoner, which was surprising, given that he served the treacherous Boltons. But that was all in the past and he made it clear that he reviled Ramsay, for the horrific murder of Lady Walda and her newborn.

The people grew to love their Lady, a great deal. Their lives had improved immeasurably under the Starks. No longer were they subjects of harassment, theft, rape, interrogation and worst of all, flaying. The Boltons had always starved and overworked them, like slaves, but not Lady Sansa. Having been through so much trauma herself, she'd came to adore the lowborn, despite her unfounded aversion towards them, years earlier. Gods, she was so vain and foolish, in her younger years. Arya had been right to hate that pretentious little weasel Joffrey, all along! If only she could see her little sister again and make amends. They'd been at odds with each other, all their lives. Things would surely be so much different now.

"The Lone Wolf dies, but the pack survives." Sansa would mutter to herself, every night, like a mantra. Her beloved father's words meant more to her now than they ever did. Family was everything. If Arya and Bran were still alive, she hoped with all her heart that they returned to Winterfell, posthaste, to be reunited with her. Jon was the leader of their pack and while he may have been a bit of a simpleton, more often than not, she was fiercely loyal to him and would continue to be so, till her dying breath. No one would ever divide her from her pack now, not Littlefinger, nor any other double-crossing, swindler. With those thoughts, she fell into a tranquil slumber.

Hours later, Sansa lay awake on her bed as she looked up the ceiling, pondering the likelihood of making it through winter. Everything depended on a successful campaign in the South. She prayed that the army came through for them. The sand from the hourglass was trickling, each and every granule bringing them closer and closer to the moment of truth. Resources wouldn't last forever and it was important that they economize well. A thought suddenly hit the auburn-haired Lady. Winterfell had a glass garden, where vegetation thrived, even during the coldest of winters. What if-

Sansa instantly burst out her chamber doors and summoned Davos Seaworth and Maester Wolkan, thereafter discussing the plausibility of constructing many greenhouses around the North and how best to go about it.

"The most reliable glassware in the realm is found in Essos, my Lady." Ser Davos stated, raising his eyebrows. "More specifically, from Myr."

"However, those gardens can only be built upon hot springs." The Maester chimed in. "There are several wide-ranging hot springs across the North, especially in Winterfell, but those lands have been inhabited for as long as anyone can remember."

"Plus, glass production is more costly than you can imagine." Ser Davos argued. "Other than White Harbor, Northern Houses aren't particularly known for their wealth, especially after the War of the five Kings."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to just purchase our harvest from the Reach or Pentos?" Wolkan asked.

"Yes, but if we rely on others to keep us going during winter, we're still vulnerable." Sansa rejoined. "If we can last on our own, no one will ever dare to question our strength."

"My Lady, even if we somehow acquire the wealth necessary for a project such as this, it would mean tearing down many homes and displacing scores of families." Wolkan said primly.

"We could relocate them." The Lady of Winterfell suggested, after considering that downside. "The Dreadfort belongs to House Hornwood now. Surely we can find suitable accommodation there and in the surrounding area. There's also the Gift, south of the wall."

"The Gift?" Ser Davos frowned. "Begging your pardon, my Lady, but that was given to the Free Folk. I doubt anyone would choose to live amongst them."

"White Harbor then?"

"Sounds plausible." The ex-smuggler granted. "House Manderly is very rich and have been loyal to the Starks for centuries. I'm sure they'll be willing to provide."

"It still won't be enough." The Maester asserted. "With the amount of land we're talking about, thousands of people would find themselves homeless."

Silence followed for a minute, before a thought hit Sansa.

"How about this?" She began. "We build what we can for now and once the Riverlands are ours, we can have people sent down there."

"That's assuming we can take them." Ser Davos replied. "The Lannisters still outnumber us greatly."

"Not for long." Sansa countered. "From what we've heard, at least 40 000 men and women have offered to join our army across the North and more may follow. In half a year's time, they should be trained and disciplined enough to fight."

"But we barely have half a year." Stated the Maester.

"What if we build the glass gardens?" She asked. "Will it last us long enough?"

"Maybe."

"There's still the matter of cost." Ser Davos put forth. "Even if we bankrupt every Northern House, I don't think it'll be enough."

"Surely there has to be a way."

"We could acquire a loan from the Iron Bank-"

"Of course!" Sansa gushed.

"-but it's unlikely they'll agree." The ex-smuggler finished.

"Why wouldn't they?" Asked the Lady of Winterfell, creasing her brows.

"Stannis Baratheon borrowed a large sum from them, but he's dead." He responded, bitterness laced in his voice, as he spoke of the King he once revered, till he'd learned the truth about Princess Shireen's fate. "Being the chief survivor from his camp, that debt's fallen on me. They won't accept, not unless I can offer them something in return."

A messenger suddenly entered, holding a scroll, with the unbroken red stallion seal, sigil of House Bracken.

"My Lady, a letter from the Riverlands."

 _A/N: Tensions rise. What'll happen next? What of the Riverlands, now that Riverrun's been liberated from Frey occupation and the lion creeps upon them?! Will the Starks go South and battle the Lannisters, once again?! If so, who will emerge the victor?! Will the North survive?! Share your thoughts and review! :D_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Been ages since I updated! Sorry, been so busy with my DBZ stories xD! But here we are again! Added in some fun Tormund/Brienne scenes just for my lovely friend, lovelykotori! Hope you enjoy!_ :D

Chapter 3: Reunion of wolves

Jon was returning west with his cavalry, back to Winterfell, when a rider from the Dreadfort galloped towards him, in all haste, carrying a copy of a letter, forwarded by Lady Sansa to the former Bolton stronghold. The King's mounted force slowed down and eventually came to a halt, clearing a path for the rider.

"A letter, from Riverrun, Your Grace."

"Thank you." Jon grabbed and unfurled the parchment, before carefully reading through it.

 _To His Grace, Jon Snow, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North._

 _Tales of your great victory at Winterfell have spread across the realm and inspired us in our own struggle. We have the Freys on the run and command a battalion of 1500 loyal soldiers, all garrisoned in Riverrun. However, the Lannisters are upon us, with a force of over 15 000, led by the Kingslayer himself._

 _We urge you to ride South, without delay, so that we may unite and crush our enemies. Let the North, the Riverlands and the Vale fight together once again, as they did, during King Robert's rebellion._

 _Jonos Bracken, Lord of Stone Hedge._

Jon sighed in dismay, pondering over what he'd just read. They needed to act fast. Their very survival over the coming winter, was contingent upon harvest reaped from the Riverlands.

"Tell Lord Bracken that he needs to slow the Lannisters down and draw them as far North as possible." Jon directed. "If he can liberate Seagard from the Freys and hold the castle, it would help us immeasurably."

"Understood, your grace." The messenger nodded, quill in one hand and bottle of ink in the other, so he could briefly jot everything down on an empty parchment.

"Have a raven sent to Moat Cailin, as well." The Wolf King commanded, ensuring that each instruction was clear and concise. "Send Lord Royce a copy of the letter from Riverrun and tell the Hand that he is to station his forces outside the castle and await my arrival. Also send a letter to White Harbor. Have them ready two hundred cavalry and wagons with as many supplies, as they can spare. Lastly, tell my sister that I'm marching South with my host and require an additional 2000 trained infantry and rest of the Vale Knights, to make haste for Moat Cailin. Time is of the essence, so you'd best hurry." _  
_  
"At once, your Grace." The messenger bowed and took off, once he was done writing.

With the Lannister intervention, things would be a lot more difficult and complicated. As the King journeyed west, he considered more than once to leave the Riverlords to their own devices and travel North, to the wall, where the greater battle awaited them, but he just couldn't do it. These people were Robb's bannermen. They'd sworn allegiance to his brother and thus by default, they fell under his protection. Their unswerving loyalty to the Northern cause had made them suffer immeasurably and so he owed it to them, to come to their aid. The Lannisters were a virus upon the entire realm and he was resolved to excise them once and for all, so the continent could collectively turn its undivided attention towards the real war.

The King and his men travelled along swathes of freshly harvested crops, as they entered the enriched city of White Harbor. As much as they would've loved sightseeing, however, there was no time to waste. Their visit was brief. After loading wagons with casks of wine and water, barrels of food and fresh fodder, the Northern host continued their journey southwest, clearing a path through the undergrowth, as they loped towards Moat Cailin.

Once all three armies had rendezvoused, they had a cumulative force of 5000 infantry, 2000 archers and 5000 cavalry, all marching along the Kingsroad, headed for the Twins, with Jon himself, leading the contingent of outriders that scoured ahead of the main body.

XXXX

As soon as Arya heard the news that Jon was taking his army towards the Frey stronghold, she flitted the Inn she was settled in and galloped South without a moment's delay, resolved to help him, in whatever way possible. She knew the castle well enough and her cloning ability would most certainly come in handy. They Freys may have been blundering buffoons, but they'd have their guard up, following the abrupt and untimely death of their accursed Lord.

Once she tracked down the Northern forces, the stealthy wolf girl waited till they made camp, before wending her way through lines of heedless troops and finally spotting the royal pavilion.

'It's been so many years.' She thought to herself, clutching her pounding heart. It wasn't often that the young assassin trembled, but now as she stood there, she felt on edge, unable to fully absorb the fact that just a few dozen yards away was her brother, her most beloved brother: Jon. Ever since her father's murder, she hadn't seen another living Stark and no matter what the laws of Westeros stipulated, Jon was a Stark, through and through, as much as any of her other siblings. With each step she took, the simple task of breathing became more and more difficult.

"Halt, who goes there?!" One of the sentry demanded.

Arya abruptly ceased her tentative trek.

"I-" She gulped and took a deep breath. "I need to see the King."

"How did a little girl like you, sneak through our camp?!" The other guard growled.

"I'm not a little girl, I'm A-"

Before she could finish, Jon suddenly emerged through the flap of his pavilion. He thought he was hearing things, but that voice was unmistakeable. He gasped as he caught sight of his little sister, all grown up, donning a brown leather tunic and matching boots and breeches. By her waist, was the rapier he'd gifted her, all those years ago. "Arya?"

The wolf-girl's eyes were fixated on her brother, figure immobile, as she continued to peer upon him. His boyish features had hardened over the years, a thick black beard lining his jaw and a thin scar over his left eye, but it was undoubtedly him. Jon took a hesitant step forward, before Arya leapt towards him and crushed him into a heartfelt embrace, which the King readily returned.

"It's really you, Jon!" She cried and laughed, at the same time. "Gods, it's really you!"

Jon remained silent, as he held his little sister tight, savoring the warmth and comfort of this tranquil moment, for as long as he could. After a considerable length of time, he pulled back and firmly took hold of her shoulders, looking her squarely in the face. "I thought you were dead." He said quietly, unable to help it, as his grey-eyes moistened.

"No, not yet." She replied, managing a grin, in spite of her heavy breathing. "I came close, more than once." Arya placed a hand atop her sword. "But this kept me safe." She paused a moment. "You kept me safe. You- and father."

At the thought of her beloved father, stray tears drooped down her eyelids.

"Hey, come here." Jon drew her back into his arms, and the two spent long moments consoling one-another. At long last, the Stark siblings made their way indoors and basked in the simple comfort and bliss of each other's presence. "So where've you been all this time?" Jon finally asked.

"Many places." Arya replied. "When I escaped King's Landing, I was forced to run and hide, from the Lannisters. But later on, I decided to fight back." That really caught Jon's attention. "I've spent years travelling across the world, East and West."

"East?" The wolf King raised his brows. "You've been to Essos?"

"Yes." Arya nodded. "I trained in Braavos, with the Faceless Men."

"Why?" He asked, not exactly knowing who the "Faceless Men" were.

"I was preparing."

"For what?"

"For this." She gestured to everything around her and her brother immediately understood.

"Arya, I-" Jon sighed and gave her a solemn look. "I don't think you're going to like, what I'm about to tell you."

"I know what you're going to tell me." She scoffed. "It's the same thing mother and father would've said- and Robb as well. But once you're in, there's no getting out."

"That's why you're not getting in." He fervently maintained. "Whatever you did to survive for all those years, I'm glad you're alive. That's what matters. But fighting a war is entirely different. It's too dangerous for you."

"Nothing's too dangerous for me." She countered, in a perturbingly stoic manner. "You're heading for the Twins, right?"

Jon exhaled through his nostrils, giving her a grudging nod.

"Well, I know that castle better than anyone here." She claimed. "In fact, I was there, just recently."

"Recently?" The wolf king crinkled his eyes and suddenly he put two-and-two together. "W-Walder Frey?"

"That's right." She replied, with an air of hubris. "Two of his sons, as well. They're weak now, very weak, but not completely defenceless."

Jon stared at her in shock, scarcely able to recognize the coldblooded assassin before him, who was once his sweet, albeit roguish little sister.

"Don't look at me like that." The wolf girl sneered. "They say you killed half-a-hundred men, when you took back Winterfell. Why's it okay for you and not for me?"

"Arya-"

"They betrayed and murdered our family." She adamantly cut him off, mid-sentence. "I won't stop until I kill every last one of them and the Lannisters. They deserve to die. All of them do!"

"Enough!" Jon snapped. "Arya, for heaven's sake, think about what you're saying. Murdering people like that isn't the same thing as killing them during a battle."

"How are they any different?!" She fumed. "You kill when you have to and so do I!"

"But you don't have to!"

"So I should've just left them breathing, after everything they did, is that what you're saying?!" Arya snarled, slamming her hands on the table top, as she tersely stood up and gave Jon a fierce, indignant glare, emotions no longer in check. "You weren't there! I was! I saw them slaughtering Stark soldiers, while they were feasting outside their tents! I saw Robb's body being paraded around on a horse, with Greywind's head sown, in place of his own! How could you know anything about it?! You were over a thousand miles away, when it happened!"

Jon's heart crumbled to pieces, with each and every word. The wolf king was rendered speechless, after that staggering revelation. By now, Arya had angry tears streaming down her face and Jon realized that no matter what she'd done, this was still his little sister and she'd seen terrible things that no girl should ever have seen. Life changed her, just as it did him. She wasn't like this by choice, anymore than he was.

"Y-You were there?" He stammered.

"Yes!"

"How did you-"

"They never saw me and even they had, no one knew who I was." Arya answered his unspoken query. "I was travelling with the Hound, for the wedding. He found me on the road, took me captive and wanted to ransom me to Robb, for gold."

"Did he hurt you?" Jon asked concernedly.

"No." She shook her head. "He wasn't like that." She was suddenly overcome with a moment of remorse, as she recalled Sandor Clegane's pleas for a quick death and how she'd callously left him there to writhe in agony, in spite of everything they'd been through together. However, she brushed that aside and went on. "If we arrived there an hour earlier, I would've been reunited with mother and Robb." She turned her eyes on Jon, yet again. "And then I'd have been butchered with them or worse, sold to the Lannisters."

"I'm sorry." Jon whispered, face downcast. "I wish I was there. As soon as I heard that Robb was marching South, I was planning to leave the Night's Watch and join him."

"So why didn't you?"

"I swore an oath- and my brothers stopped me."

"Your real brothers died." She shot back.

Jon met her gaze.

"No, Bran might still be alive." He replied and Arya's eyes widened.

"I- I thought Theon killed him." She couldn't keep the venom out of her voice, at the thought of her traitorous foster-brother. Jon went on explaining how Bran and Rickon escaped and how Theon burned the corpses of two farm-boys, passing them off as the youngest Stark children.

"So there's a chance then, for Bran and Rickon."

At the mention of Rickon, Jon could no longer look her in the eye.

"Bran, yes, there's a chance, a slim chance." He finally answered, after a tense silence. "But Rickon was killed by Ramsay Bolton, just before the battle for Winterfell. I tried to save him, but- I couldn't reach him in time."

"No." Tears brimmed the wolf-girl's eyes as the flicker of hope that rose within her, was quickly doused. After grieving for their deceased little brother, the Stark siblings went on sharing stories of everything they'd experienced, until finally getting down to business. Arya insisted that she be filled in on all the details of the Northern campaign thus far.

"Most of the Frey soldiers were either killed or dispersed, after Walder Frey's death." Jon informed. "But we stumbled upon some of their outposts, south of the border."

"And?"

Jon explained how they seized Frey uniforms from the deceased and cowed some of the survivors into helping them when the time came. Given the choice between execution and freedom, once the war was over, they agreed to lead a sizeable troupe of seasoned Northmen, disguised as Freys, into the East tower, allowing them to secure the entrance gates, whereby the rest of the Northerners would rush in and storm the castle, with minimal losses on their end.

"You're not really going to set them free, are you?" Arya's lips curled up in distaste.

"A King must always keeps his word, but they might not enjoy freedom so much, after losing all their wealth and possessions and being exiled from Westeros."

"Oh." Arya smirked, in understanding. "Are you sure none of the Freys were able to escape?" She asked. "If they know you're coming, your plan won't work."

"Don't worry about that." Jon replied. "Ghost took care of the leftovers." He gestured towards his giant direwolf snoozing nearby, who'd somehow managed to escape Arya's attention, all this time. The wolf girl gasped, before squealing in delight, as she dashed towards Ghost, throwing her slender arms around him. Jon chuckled, as the bleary animal woke up to a start. Ghost let out a low growl, his thick fur bristling, not appreciating the fact that his sleep was interrupted. Soon the direwolf cooled down, however, as it came to recognize the familiar scent of the girl embracing him. The wolf king told his sister how Ghost had proven himself to be an invaluable asset to the outriding force, his highly receptive senses helping them scope out and uproot enemy positions, with ease.

"I heard your direwolf bit Joffrey, on the wrist and he cried like a girl."

With one arm around Ghost, Arya's attention was on her brother, once again.

"Sansa told you?" She asked, hardly containing her giggles, as the white direwolf caressed her beneath the neck with the tip of his lengthy muzzle, red eyes contentedly shut.

"Aye."

"Nymeria would've ripped his ugly little head off, if I hadn't stopped her." She seethed, at the memory. "I really wish I'd let her do it."

"Cersei would've murdered the both of you." Jon reminded her.

"You said the Lannisters are marching on the Riverlands, right?" Arya asked, abruptly changing the subject. Thinking about her direwolf brought back too many painful memories and regrets. "Fifteen-thousand of them?"

"That's right."

"And there're only fifteen-hundred men, defending the Riverlands?"

Jon nodded.

"You won't be able to reach them in time, not without my help."

Before Jon could interject, she revealed her sly scheme to capture both of the Twin Towers, before marching west to relieve the Rivermen. It was learned from the Frey captives that the stout, sluggish Lord Ryman Frey had joined up with Jaime Lannister, leaving less than half his forces behind to defend the Twins and one of his generals as castellan, until his return. Apparently the Riverlords had been able to recapture Seagard, but were now under heavy siege from the Lannister-Frey army. Arya's plan was simple: she would sneak inside the castle, kill the castellan, take his face and use his stolen identity to lure all but a handful of the Frey soldiers, into the East tower, like lambs to the slaughter. That way, very few soldiers would be left to defend the West Tower and the Twins were as good as there's. Jon had to admit that if executed properly, her plan could prove masterful. After all, if too many of the Freys remained in the West Tower, they would likely be able to hold it long enough, for the Lannisters to come to their aid. If that happened, any chance of capturing it would be lost, which would prevent them from crossing over to the West Bank of the Green Fork and reaching the beleaguered Riverlords. Even so, he didn't like putting his little sister at risk, especially after what happened to Rickon.

"You said it yourself, it's a good plan." The wolf girl argued. "We're not that far from the Twins. Give me half-a-day and then make your move. I'll make sure the entrance gates are opened when your men arrive and I'll seal the postern gates, so no one can escape. We'll catch them unawares."

"What if they discover that you're not really-"

"They won't." Arya interjected. "I've spent a long time training for this. I'm the only one who knows how to pull it off and besides, you told me there's an army of dead men, on the march. Each moment we waste here brings them one step closer to the wall. Let me do what I do best."

Jon knew his sister's case was irrefutable, but even so, it took a while for her to finally convince him. He wasn't happy about it, not at all, but like Arya said, it was make or break. The greater war was on the horizon and if they failed here, every living being would fall to the army of the dead. And thus the plan was set in motion.

XXXX

"No Pod, you need to pivot your front foot, as you change position, otherwise your opponent will cut you in half."

"I'm trying, it's not that easy."

"Well, try harder." Brienne snapped impatiently. The ungainly squire frowned, as he looked over his Lady's shoulder. Brienne followed his gaze, brows raised as she saw that perverted suitor of hers relaying some instructions to two little wildling girls, both armed with short sparring swords. Sensing the pair of eyes on him, Tormund's attention shifted towards Brienne. Before he could so much as quirk his lips, in that distinctive leer of his, however, the girls struck him on either arm, thereafter cheering and tackling him to the ground. As much as she tried not to, Brienne couldn't help but chuckle and shake her head, at the incredulous scene. After some deliberation, she sauntered towards the trio, Podrick in tow.

"Hey, no fair, I wasn't looking." The bearded wildling objected.

"That's your our own fault, daddy." One of the grinning girls riposted.

"You're the one who always tells us never to be distracted during a fight." Added the other.

"Alright, alright, you win." Tormund relented, mussing their unruly heads. "Now, what do you fools want?"

"Tell us a story about dragons."

"Yeah!"

"Hmmm, okay, I-" Tormund's gaze suddenly turned towards the large, flaxen-haired woman, looming over his supine body. The wildling general's eyes gleamed with unbridled desire, as he gave her that all-too-familiar lecherous smile of his. Brienne just rolled her eyes, somewhat more accustomed to his perversity than before.

"Are these your daughters?" She asked.

"Oh, these two?" Tormund replied. "Yes, they are." He nodded. "Fly along now, little parrots. Your dragon-tale can wait until nighttime."

Pouting and protesting, the children wandered back indoors, as their father rose to his feet.

"Their mother died a few years ago." Tormund stated, as he dusted the snow, off his woollen trousers.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Brienne said apologetically, eliciting a stoic grunt from the wildling. "How old are they?"

"One's seven, the other's eight." Tormund replied, pulling out his wineskin and chugging down a large gulp. He then offered up the container to the flaxen-head.

"No, thank you." Brienne waved her hand in dismissal. "I've been wondering. Is it common for women in your communities, to learn how to fight."

"Of course." Tormund nodded, pausing a moment, before smirking. "Why, you want to learn?"

"I already know how to fight." Brienne snorted.

"I can teach you something a lot better." The prurient wildling gave her a wide, toothy grin, earning a horrified grimace from the Southern Lady.

"You're really good at ruining a conversation!" She spat in disgust, before turning on her heel and exiting the scene. "Come, Pod!"

Podrick awkwardly stumbled along, while the raunchy redhead shamelessly stared down at Brienne's receding rear. Gods, it was so meaty and scrumptious. Tormund reveled at the spellbinding sight of each glamorous glute, wanting nothing more than to bury himself, right in there.

'Soon.' The ginger thought to himself, all smiles. As much she tried to hide it, he didn't fail to miss the small spark of curiosity, in her burnished, beguiling blue eyes. He would definitely be teaching her a thing or two. It wouldn't be long before the last walls of resistance fell and the beautiful behemoth found herself rendered helpless, against his charms.

Later that day, Brienne was escorting Lady Stark along the castle, as the latter oversaw the construction of new blacksmiths, granaries, markets and orphanages. With the gold and silver that Jon had acquired from the Dreadfort and sent to Winterfell, the tide was smoother than ever and general morale was at an all-time high.

"My Lady, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course." Sansa replied, her eyes drawn towards a group of orphan children hurling snow balls at one-another. She couldn't help but smile, as she saw them. They reminded her of Arya and Bran, when they were little. Gods, how she missed them. Deep in her heart, she knew they were alright and that she would see them again, someday.

"It's about that wildling man, Tormund, I believe his name is."

"Oh?" Sansa's brows shot up, as looked at Brienne in surprise.

"What do you think of him?" She asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"How do you mean?" The Lady of Winterfell frowned, slightly bewildered. "I've heard he's a great fighter. Plus Jon told me, he's very trustworthy and everything."

"Do you-" Brienne dithered a moment, before shaking her head. "Never mind. I shouldn't be asking this kinda of stuff."

"No, no, go on." Sansa insisted.

"Well, does he strike you as the type of person who's underhanded or disingenuous, in anyway?"

"Oh no, not Tormund." Lady Stark laughed. "He might be a little strange and unconventional, but he's as simple and straightforward, as they come. That's why he and Jon get along so well. They never snake their way around anything. They just go straight to the point."

"I heard your father was a lot like that." Brienne noted.

"He was." Sansa smiled, in memory. "No man was ever more honorable than he was." Her face fell, as she let out a poignant sigh. "But in the end, honor got him killed."

"King Renly spoke very highly of him." The Lady of Tarth recalled. "He told me that Ned Stark's death pained him, even more than his brother, Robert."

"I hate King Robert." Sansa scowled. "He ruined everything, by coming here. He should've asked someone else to be his hand. If he weren't so blind, he would've known that his Queen was off whoring with her own brother and our family would've have had to pay the price, for his stupidity."

Brienne nodded. Robert was, no doubt, a terrible King. He was never meant to rule, in the first place. If Renly or Ned Stark had been in his place, the realm would've prospered, but sadly that didn't happen. After a while, her meandering thoughts went back to Tormund and she couldn't help but wonder why he constantly surveyed her, in that lecherous manner. It was nauseating to say the least, but at the same time, she couldn't recall a single man who'd ever found her attractive. But what if it was all just a ploy to try and trifle with her emotions? No, it couldn't be that, given the way Sansa described him. In spite of all his obvious shortcomings, he wasn't _that_ sort of person. She had to admit to herself, when he didn't have that idiotic grin on his face, he was actually sort of good-looking. Brienne's face flushed, in embarrassment at her own thoughts and to her dismay, Sansa noticed.

"What're you thinking about?" She smiled inquisitively.

"Nothing, nothing." Brienne shook her head.

"You were thinking about Tormund, weren't you?"

"No, what makes you say that?" She replied, a little too defensively. Seeing her face redden a few shades further, was all the answer that Sansa needed.

"There's no point hiding it now." She grinned.

Neither of them spoke for a while, until Sansa broke the silence.

"Do you find him attractive?"

"Of course not!" Brienne grimaced.

"Come on, I won't tell anyone."

"There's nothing to tell." The blonde bodyguard stubbornly insisted.

"Well, if you were to ask me, I'd say he does have a certain charm about him." Sansa quirked her lips up, craftily opening up an avenue, for the large lady.

"Alright, he does have nice eyes." Brienne begrudgingly admitted. "But that's about it."

"He is handsome for his age too, wouldn't you say?"

Brienne scoffed, saying nothing for a moment.

"A little, perhaps." She finally sighed and relented. "But the way he behaves and talks is really off-putting, to say the least."

"Well, he's from North of the wall, so it's not really unexpected." Sansa chuckled. "The wildlings are an odd bunch at first, but eventually, you get used to them. Jon said I should get to know them better and I must say, it's been an interesting experience, to say the least."

"He's a good man, your brother." Brienne smiled. "A very good man."

"Yes, he is." They were now atop the battlements and Sansa looked over the snowy horizon, South of Winterfell, praying that Jon's campaign in the South went well and that he returned home, soon. Until then, she would do her best to make him proud.

 _A/N: So I guess that's all for now hehe. How well will Jon's campaign in the Riverlands go? What of the Twin Towers of Frey and the Riverlords, trapped in Seagard? And what of Brienne and Tormund's endeavours? Be sure to leave me your thoughts and hit the review button, my friends!_ :D


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: So, just throwing this in between my DBZ fic updates, since I've got some of my writing mojo back xD. I hope y'all enjoy it, as always! There's an awesome reunion in here that I promise you'll love! This is easily my best chapter so far!_ :D

Chapter 4: The Wolf and the Lion

Moments after the Northerners, under the guise of Freys, secured the entrance gates of East Tower, a column of blistering light cavalry galloped forward with an undying vengeance, cutting down their unsuspecting foes one after another, whilst suffering minimal losses on their end. A throng of archers charged in thereafter, firing at the Frey bowmen positioned along the wall-walk. Hundreds of Freys attempted to flee back to the West Tower, but found that the postern gates wouldn't budge, much to their horror. They were trapped and at the mercy of the Northmen. Within minutes the enemy forces were vanquished and their Keep was under siege.

"What the fuck do we do?!" A deeply dismayed lieutenant frantically paced around the upper floor. "We've less than a hundred men left and we're surrounded on all sides!"

"Are they offering terms?" Asked the stony-faced castellan.

"I- I don't know."

"We'll ask them for terms."

"But we cannot let them have the keep!" The Frey lieutenant insisted. "The Northerners hate us! They'll butcher us like lambs!"

"If we stay here, we're dead anyway." The castellan rejoined. "It won't be long before they break through."

Dithering for just a moment, the lower-ranking man grudgingly nodded, hoping against hope that he'd live to see another day.

The opposing parties met outside the keep and unbeknownst to anyone besides the two commanders, this parley was nothing more than a mummer's farce.

"Whatever men you have left, will be thrown in the dungeons, until the war is over." Jon decreed. "If we defeat the Lannisters, we'll spare your lives. You have my word on that."

"Why would you spare us?" The gaunt general raised a curious brow, playing along with the pre-battle script. "We betrayed and murdered your brother along with most of his bannermen."

"We're Northmen." The Wolf King narrowed his eyes, in fierce fervor. "We're not cowards. We don't execute prisoners or unarmed civilians. And unlike you lot, we hold honor above everything else."

Lord Royce couldn't help but smile at that. For the first time in his life since Jon Arryn died, he felt as if he was serving a true leader.

"I suppose I can't argue with you there." The castellan sighed. "You Starks would stick a melting candle up your frozen arses, if honor called for it." He promptly nodded. "Very well then. The Keep is yours."

"My Lord, you can't-"

"Quiet!" He cut off his subordinate. "Lord Ryman left me in charge and you will do as ordered. Have the men to throw down their weapons and surrender, else I'll have you gelded and hanged!"

"Y-Y-Yes s-sir."

Once the remaining Freys were rounded up, disarmed and put in irons, their general turned towards them and took off his face mask, unveiling his true identity- only he was a she. Both sides were rendered speechless, not knowing what to make of the anomalous occurrence, taking place before their incredulous eyes.

Jon cleared his throat and delivered the big reveal.

"This is my sister, Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell."

Barely resisting the urge to wince at the title, the wolf girl instead smirked complacently at the looks of horror, rage and indignation on the faces of her former underlings. They'd been so stupid. They should've picked up on the sudden deviation in the _so-called_ General's mannerisms a day or so ago, but they hadn't thought much of it. Now they knew better. This little Stark bitch must've been the one behind the late Lord Walder's death. She'd fooled them good. How she was able to survive King's Landing, let alone acquire such uncanny abilities, they didn't know.

The Northerners lauded their Princess, after overcoming the initial sense of shock. So many questions hung in the air, but for now, they revelled in the knowledge that not only was another Stark alive, but she'd avenged the demise of their once-King.

Soon afterwards, Jon led a thousand infantry along the bridge, headed straight for the Western Tower, where only forty men were left behind to defend. Shocked and petrified at the overwhelming force coming their way, the remaining Freys unanimously decided that surrender was for the best, knowing that there was no way they'd be able to stave off their enemies long enough for Ser Jaime and Ser Ryman to relieve them. It was all over.

The last time the Northerners had been inside the walls of the West Tower, they'd been slaughtered like sheep, along with their prodigious young King. Now said King's successor strode in proudly as a conquerer, with Ghost by his side. At last, fortune had turned in their favor.

Edmure Tully was released from his captivity and brought over to Jon. With little time to spare, the King briefly informed the Lord of Riverrun of his plans to defeat the Lannisters and the Freys, however Edmure never said a word and simply glared at him in disdain. Jon had seen that same look in the eyes of so many others and understood the tacit meaning behind his silence. As far as Lord Tully was concerned, he was nothing more than an jumped-up bastard and not a _true King_.

Jon left a garrison of two thousand men behind, under the command of Lord Hornwood, while he gathered the rest and headed towards Seagard. Twelve hundred heavy cavalry rode at the forefront of his army, the hooves of their armoured destriers leaving a marked, muddy trail, as they cantered southwest. Behind them were four thousand foot-soldiers. The Northmen blazed with vigor and unwavering resolve, determined to crush the Freys and the Lannisters, once and for all.

As was the case before the conquest of the Twins, the King led the outriding force, with Ghost by his side. Unsurprisingly, they came upon several enemy outposts, but were able to deal with them in a quick and efficient manner, ensuring that no one was able to escape and report the incoming incursion. Soon afterwards, they saw a vast alignment of red flags in the distance, bearing the fearsome sigil of House Lannister: a salient gold lion that had mauled it's way through countless foes, one after the other: the Reynes, the Tarbecks, the Targaryens, the Tyrells and yes, even the Starks. But no longer. The lion would be driven to its knees once and for all and the wolf would rise up to take it's rightful place, as the Lord of Winter.

XXXX

Archers fired away from the merlons, crenels and loopholes of Seagard, persistently holding out against the invaders and refusing to capitulate, despite being chipped away bit by bit. The Lannister-Frey army had already lost at least fifteen hundred men, against less than three hundred from the Riverlands. Even so, the situation was dire. At this rate, they wouldn't last out the day. Where were the Northerners?

As if on cue, a mounted figure was spotted from afar and shortly afterwards, a sizeable host came into view, growing larger and larger by the second. Eventually, hundreds of horsemen were visible to the naked eye, thousands of footmen behind them, carrying an assortment of Northern banners. They saw the commander whirl around and address his battalion.

"Brothers." Jon said grimly, sat firmly astride Ghost. "You are the men of the North. You are the men of Winter. Ice runs through your blood. Steel runs through your blood." His mouth pressed into a hard line, as his soldiers listened intently, a boiling surge of adrenaline and bloodlust pumping through their veins, morale soaring with each ensuing word. "Let us show these Southerners that the North remembers and we will never forget!" He roared.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" The Northerners bellowed aloud with a single voice, raising their fists into the air, as they repeatedly chanted. "THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

"MEN OF THE NORTH!" Jon unsheathed longclaw and his men followed suite, readying their weapons. He swivelled around and aimed it at the enemy. "WITH ME!" The White Wolf bounded ahead and his men raced behind him, driven, determined and out for blood. Their collective cries transformed into thunderous crescendos that tore right into the heart of the enemy, making their blood run cold and plaguing them with unabated horror.

Ser Jaime hurriedly rushed to try and assemble his forces into a proper shield formation, but before he even had the chance, another two terrifying sets of resounding hooves were heard in the distance. Dread engulfed the Lannisters and the Freys, as they observed an array of white falcon banners emerge, armoured Valemen cavaliers charging in at deadly speeds from either side.

However, it was the sight of the snarling direwolf blitzing straight towards them with Jon at his back, which made them quiver more than anything else. That bloody thing was the size of a stallion and a hundred times as frightening, with its alarming speed, razor-like fangs and blood-red irises. The soldiers desperately scrambled about in an attempt to escape the incoming, sabre-toothed canine. Daunted, dismayed, disarrayed and drastically unprepared for the three-pronged attack, the Western lines were quickly broken and their centres were overrun with swarms of enemy horsemen and footmen.

Moments later, the sally port of Seagard burst open and a surging storm of Trident men shot out, assailing their adversaries from the rear. Under attack from all directions, the Lannister-Frey forces were quickly being mowed down, with not a single avenue left for retreat.

The Wolf King lost count of many foes had fallen at his hands. The enemy horses shied in fright, whenever his feral beast drew close, while the panicked footmen scampered for their lives. But it was all for naught. Whether Ghost mauled them to bits, whether Jon sunk his Valyrian steel-sword into their pounding, petrified hearts or whether they ran into other battle-frenzied enemies, the bottom line spelled doom for the Lannisters and the Freys.

"YIELD!" Jaime frantically yelled over the gut-wrenching screams of his dying men. He placed his hands on either side of his mouth, as he roared in his loudest voice. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS! YIELD! YIELD!"

The battle was over. The Northerners had won and for the second time in his life, Jaime Lannister would find himself captive to a Stark boy- only this one was a Snow and not a Stark, which made it all the more ignominious. He couldn't fathom how the Northerners had been able to move so quickly and yet so discreetly, at the same time. He'd underestimated the wolves once before and paid the price for his arrogance. But this time, he was sure he'd been prepared for anything. By all accounts, he should've known about any enemy troop movements well in advance, given the Lannister outposts that had been strategically set up between Seagard and the Twins. Were his men really so incompetent or was this _bastard King_ as good as they said he was? It didn't matter either way. The Lannisters had been soundly defeated, suffering over ten times as many losses as their enemies.

But it was the Freys who were more afraid than anyone else of the Northern reprisal for their sacrilege at the Twins, not so many years ago. With around four hundred of his men left alive, many of them wounded, Lord Ryman got on his knees, shamelessly begging for mercy and even urinating himself in front of everyone, when the white direwolf snarled at him, a sight that made the Northerners laugh at the pitiful, portly pig of a man.

"Easy Ghost." Jon soothed, whereby the beast quietened. He turned his attention back to the whimpering, fat Lord. "I am the son of Eddard Stark." He proudly proclaimed. "It's not my way to execute prisoners."

"Th-Thank you, my L-Lord- uh I mean, Your Grace." The drunken lecher went down on all fours, prostrating before the Wolf King. Jaime pressed a palm to his forehead, exhaling in mortification. How could he have been allies with such a useless, undignified, faint-hearted and fickle craven?

"Instead you are to be exiled." Jon issued his royal decree. "For your treason against my brother and your King, Robb Stark, all your lands, wealth and possessions will be seized. You will board a ship from White Harbor that will take you to Braavos. Anyone of you that sets foot in Westeros ever again will immediately be put to death."

The porcine Lord gulped and vehemently beseeched for a lesser punishment, but the unwavering Wolf King refused to have it.

"Call it divine justice." Jon looked down disdainfully at Ryman.

It was Essos for the Freys, where they would be dropped off without a single penny in their purses, where the people would spit upon their faces and fling refuse at them, where they would be shunned, cursed and reviled as amoral, ungodly heathens who'd murdered unarmed guests, beneath their roof. They would traverse the lands forever, begging at every doorstep they crossed for a morsel of food, a sip of water or a bed to sleep on, but they would receive naught. They would spend cruel, agonizing months watching their household crumble piece by piece, until nothing was left and their memory evanesced into the cold, merciless winds. It would be a punishment far worse than death, for those who violated the oldest and most sacred of laws, without remorse. It would be, as Jon called it, _divine justice_.

"Ser Jaime." The King dismounted and approached the defeated commander of the Lannister forces. "We meet again."

"Yes." The prisoner nodded, blonde hair matted with blood and grime. He was surprised that this boy King had the decency to address him with a respectable title, rather than dub him _Kingslayer_ , as his brother and so many others had. "As I recall, the last time we met, you were preparing to join the Night's Watch. I never imagined that someone so feeble-minded would end up becoming Lord Commander of such a noble order, let alone sovereign to the largest Kingdom in Westeros. Yet here you stand, a King _and_ a conquerer."

"I'm no conquerer." Jon sneered. "These lands don't belong to me, anymore than they belong to you. The men here chose to swear allegiance to my brother, when they had no cause to. I never came here to conquer. I came here to free these people from invaders and usurpers."

"A true Stark you are." Jaime smirked. "Your father would be proud."

"Don't talk about my father." The Wolf King hissed back, grounding his teeth together.

"Alright then." The Lannister commander nodded, his smirk faltering. "What shall we talk about then? My head on a spike? Are you going to take it yourself or have your beast rip it right off?"

"Neither." Jon answered, whereby Jaime's brows shot up in surprise. "Not yet, anyway. First of all, you're going to order your men at Riverrun to give up the castle and march back to the west, where they belong."

"Am I?" Jaime chuckled, earning a glare from Jon that told him he was playing with fire. "Well, I suppose it's for the best. I don't have much use for it now." He nodded. "I agree, so long as the garrison holding it are granted safe passage to the Westerlands. Anything else?"

"Yes." Jon continued. "But we'll discuss it later, in private."

"What is to become of my men?" The Knight asked and for the first time, Jon saw a genuine gleam of concern, within his emerald eyes, something he really hadn't expected.

"I haven't decided yet." He answered, after a moment of silence. There were around four thousand Lannister prisoners and something had to be done about them.

XXXX

A while later, the troops feasted vigorously within the walls of the Mallister stronghold. Capons, fish, bread, cheese, venison stew and a smorgasbord of other items were copiously served to the victors of this great battle. No efforts were spared to be frugal.

"Thank you for coming to our aid, Your Grace." Lord Jonos Bracken nodded at the Wolf King. "We are your loyal subjects henceforth, as we were your brother's. We shall be greatly honored to be a part of the Northern Kingdom."

"I thank you, my Lord." Jon smiled gratefully. "But we can't celebrate yet. There's a lot you don't know and still many battles to be fought, in the North."

"Oh?"

The Wolf King explained everything about what he'd seen at the Fist of the First Men and at Hardhome and why he'd chosen to ally with the wildlings, for the greater good.

"Mance Rayder never came to conquer our lands, but to hide behind our wall, from the horrors that lurk beyond." He recounted. "But his dreams were never realized. Most of his followers are now pawns, under the command of the Night King and they mean to head South."

"Hmmm, we shall have to go North and see for ourselves." Lord Bracken puckered his brows, not knowing how much truth there was to these obscurities of White Walkers and undead soldiers. Yes, the man before him was a Stark by blood and hadn't a reason to lie, but it still a hard tale to swallow.

"We also need to gather up harvest from the Riverlands and set up supply wagons to take them North, before winter freezes everything." Jon said. "We haven't much time, before our own resources run out."

"Of course, anything you need, Your Grace." The Lord of Stone Hedge readily agreed.

Once Riverrun was liberated, Jon left the Trident garrison behind to defend it along with a thousand of his own men, all under Lord Bracken's command. As punishment for their invasion of the Riverlands, the surviving Lannisters were to engage in the foraging, fishing and farming operations, alongside other smallfolk and when the time came, they would take the black, as would their middle-aged commander.

"I don't understand." Jaime frowned dubiously. Though constantly under guard as a prisoner, he'd been given adequate living quarters, as befitted a man of his rank. "Robb Stark would've snipped my head, had your sister not been in King's Landing. I'm afraid I no longer have that kind of leverage, so why am I still breathing?"

"It seems of me that you don't value your life." Jon noted.

"My life has no purpose anymore." The former Kingsguard muttered back, face abjectly downcast in dejection. "Not that it ever did."

An awkward pause ensued.

"What about when you saved Brienne of Tarth from the Boltons?"

Surprised flashed across Jaime's face as he stared wide-eyed at Jon.

"How did you-"

"What about when you saved King's Landing from Aerys Targaryen?"

Rendered speechless, the notorious Knight gaped at the black-bearded monarch before him, visibly moved, as his heart hammered against his chest. The masses had looked upon him with the bitterest revulsion: the Kingslayer, the oath-breaker and the godless coward, doomed to rot in the deepest pits of hell. But a saviour? No one had ever seen him that way before and no matter how often he told himself otherwise, the ceaseless aspersions had taken a hefty toll, perniciously eating away at him and transforming him into a different kind of monster than Aerys, but a monster nonetheless. How could this naive boy look upon him with any semblance of admiration, where everyone else had damned him?

"What my family did to yours-"

"No man is guilty for the crimes of his family." Jon ardently interjected. "My father taught me that."

"Your father." Jaime's chest tightened, as a strange surge of sensations stirred through him. "My whole life, I wanted to be someone like him: honorable, righteous and always true to my word. Nothing hurt more than the look on his face, when he saw me standing over the Mad King's body, with my sword plunged through his back. Ever since that moment, that look has followed me everywhere I go, haunting me during the day and keeping me awake at night." He let out a droll laugh, as his green eyes glistened with unshed tears of their own volition, face contorting with unyielding pain and resentment. He'd never been so open and vulnerable around anyone, not even Cersei or Tyrion, but now this strange boy whom he hardly knew was resurfacing years of inner turmoil that he'd kept bottled up deep inside, for as long as he could remember. "Of all the people who hated me for what I'd done, it was Ned Stark's hatred that hurt me the most."

"You should have told him." Jon said gravely. "He would never have hated you, if he'd known the truth."

Jaime's breaths became rasped, as an overwhelming wave of emotions washed over him, so profound that he nearly collapsed where he was seated.

"I don't deserve your mercy." The captive Knight fervently insisted. "You don't know the things I've done to your family."

"I do know." Jon replied, lips curling up in resentment for the first time. Brienne and Sansa had told him everything. "I know what you did to my brother Bran. I know you killed my friend Jory and attacked my father in the streets of King's Landing."

"Then you know that I deserve to die." Jaime vociferated.

"You do." The King agreed, features taut. "And there was a time when I would've executed you, without a second thought." He let out a restless sigh. "But that time's gone now and winter has come. The Night's Watch needs men like you."

"You mean cripples?" The Lannister captive scoffed.

"I mean commanders." Jon rectified, to Jaime's utmost surprise. "Your men are loyal and once the real war comes, we'll need every last one of them up North, with someone to lead them. That _someone_ is you."

Before Jaime could ask what he meant by _real war_ , the White Wolf had already exited his quarters, leaving him behind with a jumbled batch of meandering thoughts.

XXXX

The Brotherhood without Banners: thugs, outlaws and bandits to some, but champions and heroes to others. To a certain young wolf girl, they were nothing more than a double-crossing band of traitors who used religion, for their own personal gain. She vowed that one day she would have wreak vengeance upon them for what they did to Gendry. Arya saw the two men she deeply loathed: Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, both making for Riverrun at the head of a decent host, to seek an audience with the King in the North. The agile assassin was shrouded within a dense thicket of bushes, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. Placing her palm atop needle's hilt, she lunged towards her treacherous targets, but ended up colliding with what felt like a walking brick wall.

Arya fell on her behind and bore her teeth at the encroacher, only to gasp in shock as she recognized the half-burnt face of the giant man, glaring right at her.

"Look what we have here." The Hound distastefully curled his lips. "Little Stark girl, all by herself."

"Y-You're alive?" She stammered, clambering to her feet and gaping at the ghost of a man before her. She rubbed her eyes just to be sure that they weren't playing tricks on her. Sandor frowned, having expected and somewhat hoped to see at least a smidgeon of fear, on this eccentric child's face.

"You seem surprised." He snorted, in disdain.

"My Lady." Beric approached, with Thoros by his side. Arya growled, as she turned to face them and tried to unsheathe her ever-faithful rapier, only the large hand that wound itself around her slender wrist, wouldn't allow it.

"Let me go!" She demanded.

"Or what?" The Hound laughed. "You going to cross my name off your list? You had your chance and you didn't take it."

"We owe you our deepest apologies, Lady Stark." The one-eyed brotherhood leader solemnly bowed his head. "What happened to your friend, the Blacksmith, was most unfortunate-"

"Don't talk about him!" Arya cut him off, with an incensed snarl. "You're scum, every last one of you!" She shifted her furious gaze back to her once-captor. "What're you doing with them, anyway?! They tried to kill you or have you forgotten about that?!"

"I don't like these fire-worshiping cunts anymore than you do." Clegane sneered. "But they're useful when it comes to battle and from what I hear, there's a great war up North."

"What he says is true." Thoros affirmed, his grim disposition antithetical to the normally jovial, drunk priest. "That's why we came to talk to your brother. He was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and he knows better than all of us, what lies North of the wall."

"Jon would never trust the likes of you!" Arya spat, vainly struggling to wrench her arm free from the Hound's vice-like grip. "I'll make sure he kills every last one of you!"

"Well until you do that, you'd best keep those angry little paws to yourself." Sandor warned. "If I let go of you now, I trust you won't try to do anything stupid."

After a moment of hesitation, the petite assassin grudgingly nodded.

"Good." With that, he finally released her. Arya rubbed her throbbing wrist, shooting a withering glare at her sworn enemies and tacitly vowing that she would have her revenge, one way or another.

Later…

"How can you trust these people?!" The Stark girl fumed at her older brother, as she burst through his chambers, following the meeting with the Brotherhood. "They're monsters!"

"The real monsters are out there, beyond the wall." Jon rejoined. "I know you don't like it, but we need every last man. The Night King is more dangerous than anyone you've ever seen and he has over a hundred-thousand soldiers behind him. You've heard the stories before, but I've lived them. We can't win this war, on our own."

"Yes we can!" Arya stubbornly insisted. "We don't need men like that! For all you know, they'll sell you to this _Night King_ , if he offers them the right amount of gold!"

"He doesn't offer gold." Jon replied, hardly resisting the urge to chuckle at her innocence. Gods, no matter the changes she'd gone through over the years, some things about her still reminded him of the naive girl he'd left behind, at Winterfell. He would've found it endearing, had the situation not been so dire. "He only offers death, nothing else."

"Then let them die!"

"Why, so they can join our enemies and we have to kill them all over again?" The King let out a weary exhale. "I know it's difficult, but it's our only choice." He walked over and clasped her firmly, by the shoulders. "Arya, I need you on my side, okay?"

"I-" The wolf girl's vindictive resolve began to crumble, at the imploring gleam in her brother's grey eyes. "I'll always be on your side, but- Gendry was my friend and they sold him like an animal, to that red witch."

"I know." He still hadn't told her that said witch had brought him back from the dead.

"Just promise me that if they make it through the war, you'll do something." She pleaded. "They can't go unpunished."

"I promise." Jon nodded with a smile, pulling her into an embrace she readily returned.

XXXX

"Would you fuck off already?!" The Hound snapped, growing tired of the bothersome girl following him around like a stray kitten and persistently asking questions about how he'd survived and what he'd been up to, following his brush with death.

"I just want to know." Arya prodded, refusing to back down.

"What do you care?!" He finally turned around to face her, bitterness and indignation smeared all over his stern visage. "You left me there to die like a fucking dog, after everything I'd-" He cut off his sentence midway, afraid that he'd said too much and Arya immediately understood that despite the stoic mask he always wore, he'd been deeply wounded by her actions- or lack thereof.

"I'm sorry- I- I shouldn't have- I mean-" She garbled, stumbling over what to say, before taking a deep breath and looking up at him sheepishly. "I'm glad you're alive." She murmured.

Sandor's eyes widened a fraction, his icy heart melting, as he saw the gleam of remorse in those big, grey eyes of hers and the faint smile that followed. Just seeing her that way, he found that he couldn't be mad at her no matter how hard he tried. He cursed himself and this darn girl, for turning him into a goddamn snowflake!

"I'm sorry about the butcher's boy." He sighed in resignation. "And your sister- I- I shouldn't have said that about her. I'd never have-"

"I know." Arya interjected, her smile broadening. "I know you wouldn't."

Deeply astounded by this bizarre sense of _trust_ she seemed to have in him, the Hound decided that it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"So what now?"

"I guess we fight together." The Stark Princess grinned. "Like old times."

"Yes, old times." He rolled his eyes and walked off. Arya eagerly trailed after him, only this time he didn't object to her presence and the inane blather that came with it.

 _A/N: Aw Sandor, you big softy haha. Hope you all enjoyed, especially the awesome battles and Jaime's convo with Jon etc. Let me know what you thought and leave a review! As always, thanks for reading._ :D

 _p.s. Lovelykotori: I tried to squeeze in some BrieMund stuff, but there just wasn't enough room, but I hope the Hound/Arya scene made up for it. In any case, the next chapter promises some serious BrieMund goodness hehe._ :D


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